


say it to me now

by constantblur



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward, Blow Jobs, M/M, Urban Fantasy, Werewolf Felix, sylvain goes to a dance club and has a really good night, up until the point where felix catches him making out with a siren wearing felix’s face, witch sylvain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantblur/pseuds/constantblur
Summary: God, Felix might actually literally kiss him senseless. Sylvain almost hopes he does. He’d absolutely thrive off being able to brag about it.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 143





	say it to me now

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by that “why did that siren take on my image to try and seduce you, is there something you wanna tell me” au prompt

“No.”

“Felix, come _on_. Just real quick. Just super, super quick.”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid I’m right?”

“No, because I know you’re wrong. I don’t see the point in getting up. I just got comfortable.”

“Well, I don’t have it! And the last time I saw it, I was putting it right back here”—Sylvain gestures to the open drawer of the hutch—“so unless it became sentient and hopped out on its own, it’s probably with the only other person who lives here. Meaning: you. Meaning: get up, you lazy mutt, go check your backpack.”

“No.”

A dramatic groan escapes from Sylvain’s mouth as he slams the drawer shut. “Fine, _I’ll_ go check.”

“You know you can’t do that.”

Sylvain waves a careless hand as he strolls across the living room. “I’ll do a cleansing when I’m done, don’t worry, there’ll be no hint of Sylvain left by the next full moon.”

“ _Sylvain_.”

That makes Sylvain stop. He doesn’t actually pay attention to Felix’s protests most of the time and Felix doesn’t expect him to, but he knows when he actually needs to listen, and Felix trusts him to. So Sylvain isn’t going to ignore that tone of voice.

“All right,” he sighs. “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal—I trust you enough to let you stay here when you wolf out, I don’t know why you can’t trust me with a simple cleansing spell—but fine. I won’t go in your room.”

It’s always been an uncompromising aspect of their living situation: Felix’s room is off-limits. He locks himself in there on full moon nights, with Sylvain casting barrier spells on the room to keep the door sturdy and sealed, and to keep the wolf from hearing or smelling anything outside of it. If it thinks its alone and has nothing and no one to hunt, it renders it docile enough that it generally seems content to just curl up on the floor and sleep. If, however, the wolf were to scent anything other than Felix—other than itself, Sylvain supposes—it’d likely work itself into a frenzy trying to hunt down the source and eat it.

So Sylvain stays out of Felix’s room.

But they’ve been living together long enough—been friends long enough—that Sylvain thought he’d earned more trust by now. It wounds him more than he’ll ever admit to know that even after all these years, Felix’s boundaries are still immutable. 

Sylvain pastes on a smile. “So if you won’t go check your room and you won’t let me go check your room, what do you suggest?”

“Go check your room,” Felix grumbles, finally melting back into the couch cushions after his tense outburst before.

“Did that,” Sylvain grumbles back. A moment later he brightens, snapping his fingers with a cheerful, “Got it!” He meets Felix’s sullen glare with a cheeky grin. “I’ll cast a locator spell. Super simple and safe, it’ll just make a pretty, sparkly ribbon leading right to it. And when it disappears into your room, I won’t say ‘I told you so’ when you’ve gotta drag your defeated ass up to go dig it out of your backpack after you were unnecessarily difficult about the whole thing.”

“Seriously?” Felix says. “You’re gonna waste magic on this?”

“Or you could sniff it out, wolf boy,” Sylvain retorts.

Felix pulls a hand out from under the blanket to flash his middle finger at Sylvain.

Sylvain grins back as he rolls up his sleeves. “Then I guess it’s up to me,” he says, and after a pause for dramatic effect, he adds, “again.”

Sylvain works the spell quickly, pulling the words from that part of his brain that has them so ingrained he doesn’t have to think about it, to the point where sometimes he forgets they’re there. But this is one of the first spells he’d learned, and he’d used it frequently when he still lived at home and needed to track down which brother “borrowed” his favorite sweater or which sister had taken his brightening serum despite their insistence that they would never, ever touch his collection of skincare products. A silvery ribbon of light unfurls from the tip of Sylvain’s finger and glides across the living room, down the hallway towards the bedrooms—

Past Felix’s and right into Sylvain’s.

Sylvain scowls at the ribbon. “Well, you’re obviously malfunctioning,” he mutters, and, catching the altogether much-too-pleased look on Felix’s face, he loudly states, “It’s a _malfunction_ , your whole supernatural creature vibe messes with everything,” while he stomps off to his room.

The ribbon twines through the clutter of bottles and bowls on top of Sylvain’s dresser, spirals to the floor, dances over the dirty laundry like it’s teasing him for being a slob ( _Listen, it’s hell week and I’ve barely had time to sleep, all right, I’ll get to it eventually but right now you being all judgy ISN’T HELPING_ ), then shoots off to his bed, making a shimmering trail that disappears between the mattress and the bed frame. Sylvain drops to his knees and slides his hand in where the ribbon marks the spot, and a moment later, his fingers close around the rabbit’s foot lodged beneath his mattress.

“Well, would you look at that,” comes a far-too-satisfied voice.

Sylvain turns to see Felix lean against the wall, folding his arms to look the picture of Smug. “Don’t say it,” Sylvain warns.

Felix adopts a clearly-faking-it look of contemplation for a moment before he says, “Nah, I think I will,” and then, “Told you so.”

Sylvain groans. “Fine. Point, Felix. Whatever, you’re still so many points behind that I gave up counting.” He waves a hand to disperse the remnants of the locator spell and then sprawls onto the floor, squinting between the rabbit’s foot and his bed. “I really have no fucking idea how it wound up there though.” And then he squints suspiciously up at Felix. “Did you—”

“No,” Felix says.

“That’s what a guilty person would say,” Sylvain counters.

“Sylvain,” Felix says wearily, “you once left your keys in the freezer and put the leftover pizza in the hall closet instead of the fridge.”

“Um,” Sylvain says.

“This,” Felix gestures vaguely towards Sylvain and his bed, “isn’t really all that surprising.”

“I feel slandered,” Sylvain says.

“That’s a You problem,” Felix says. “All I did was state facts.”

Sylvain hooks his forefingers in the corners of his mouth, stretching it wide to make a hideous expression complete with crossed eyes and tongue waggling in Felix’s direction.

“Anyway,” Felix says, sounding bored, “shouldn’t you be getting to class?”

“Soon,” Sylvain says. He picks the rabbit’s foot back up, holding it to his cheek and giving it a loving little cuddle. “I have a minute to appreciate the fact that I found this safe and sound and not, as I feared, as Wolfie’s unfortunate snack.”

Sylvain has his final history exam and needs a moment to recover from the acute sense of dread he’d felt when he opened up the drawer the rabbit’s foot usually resides in and found it empty. Everyone knows it’s futile and frankly moronic to take a Professor Kulchak exam without a luck talisman. The sources she draws on for exam questions are often eccentric and unpredictable, with only about two-thirds of the questions bearing a vague resemblance to material covered during lectures while the remaining third makes Sylvain feel like he’s playing a round of Jeopardy. Once, someone sourced one of her questions back to a newspaper article from 1927 that had never been referenced in class or been required reading for any other assignment. There’s never any real way to know what’s going to be covered in the exam, and so everyone quickly came to the same conclusion: they’d never pass without a little bit of luck.

Sylvain’s been making a pretty sweet haul of cash since he started school here and his freshman class had first learned about Kulchak, and then about him. People brought Sylvain pens and bracelets and keychains to enchant, and for a $20 bill and a signed document stating that the customer understood that they should not keep the talisman on their person at all times hoping for luck in all situations because too much good luck always goes bad eventually (“So don’t wear it out too quickly because this is a one-per-customer deal, all right? I’m just trying to be a good samaritan and keep you all from failing history, not give you a free ride through life”), Sylvain was happy to oblige.

Felix, figuring they were friends and roommates, thought he should get a free luck talisman. Sylvain was indignant over this blatant attempt to take advantage of him and his talents. Felix pointed out that every time he stocked up on White Claw, Sylvain drank most of it. (“I haven’t even had a chance to try the mango yet. Asshole.”)

So they shared a talisman.

“You know how I knew it wasn’t in my room?” Felix says.

“Because you’re always right and I’m always wrong and I should just accept that fact?” Sylvain scathingly quips.

“That too,” Felix says easily, “but it’s because I’ve never actually used the rabbit’s foot.”

Sylvain snorts loudly. “Yeah, sure. Liar.”

“I have never even once touched that piece of roadkill since you brought it into this apartment,” Felix says, way too convincingly.

Sylvain’s jaw drops open. “What—what?” is all he can manage to convey how that is absolutely the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Felix shrugs. “I never failed so I never bothered trying it,” he says. He looks almost encouraging when he adds, “You don’t need it, Sylvain.”

“Oh yes I fucking _do_ ,” Sylvain says. “You’re lying. You’re lying and you’re trying to trick me with your lies because you’re an evil lying liar and you want me to fail.”

“Oh no, you’ve found me out,” Felix deadpans.

“No, really,” Sylvain says, “you’re joking, right? Come on. You’ve used it.”

Felix does not look like he’s joking when he looks Sylvain dead in the eyes and says, “Never.”

“But then how did you pass any of her tests?” Sylvain says, shrill enough that he winces at the sound of his own voice.

Felix peals himself from the wall. “I studied,” he says as he walks out the door.

“Yeah, so he’s actually a demon,” Sylvain says to himself wonderingly, and falls a little bit more in love.

  


* * *

  


Sylvain passes his final history exam—and yes, he used the luck talisman, no fucking way was he risking failing the final exam he would ever have to take in university and risk the chance of it suddenly not being the final exam he would ever have to take in university. Felix rolls his eyes when Sylvain tells him that, but then he actually lets Sylvain hug him when Sylvain walks towards him with arms wide open while crowing about being done with school. Felix sighs heavily and pats Sylvain’s back in an _all right, that’s enough, you can let go now_ gesture, but still. He doesn’t even try to squirm away when Sylvain keeps his arms around him for a few seconds longer than is probably reasonably within Just Dudes Being Bros range.

“Hilda’s getting a group together,” Sylvain says as he steps back. And yes, he might be more or less changing the subject before it even gets brought up. No need to give Felix an opening to ruin what was one of the most perfect moments of Sylvain’s life. “We’re going to a club to celebrate everyone officially getting cleared to graduate.”

“Of course you are,” Felix says flatly. “Because nothing says, ‘We are officially responsible adults now,’ like getting drunk and grinding up on strangers.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sylvain jokes, but when Felix’s expression doesn’t flicker, he hastily pivots. “It’s not going to be like that, okay? No sloppy drunks or sloppy hookups. Just some fun. You usually have a pretty good time with us, right? I mean, you wouldn’t have gone with us a second time if you’d hated the first.”

“I only go to shut you up,” Felix says.

“Then shut me up,” Sylvain says. “Say you’ll come?”

Sylvain tries to hook Felix with his most pleading look, but Felix doesn’t seem to be taking the bait.

“Please?” Sylvain tries.

“No,” Felix says.

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you think it over,” Sylvain says, and goes to his room to leave Felix to ‘think it over’ in the middle of the living room.

For about 15 minutes.

Sylvain pops back in while Felix has the PS4 powered up and tries to get him to agree to go out that night while Felix is otherwise distracted, but the tactic fails. Sylvain tries again later while they’re eating the burgers he bought from one of Felix’s favorite restaurants, but even on a full stomach, Felix is unswayed.

Before he leaves, Sylvain tries one more time. “I get it’s not really your scene,” he says, “but it’s not really going to feel like a celebration without you there.”

Felix stays quiet, not looking up at Sylvain from where he’s stretched out on the couch.

“It’d be really great to have you with us, Felix,” Sylvain says. “But I won’t keep annoying you about it. Just—we’ll be at Attitudes again, okay? Come meet us if want. If you get bored or whatever.”

“Maybe,” Felix grumbles, which is so much better than an outright _no_.

Sylvain counts it as a win.

“Okay, cool,” he says, trying to sound as casual as he can and not like that one grumpy _maybe_ just made his night. “I’ll keep my phone on me, text if you come by so I know to look for you, okay?”

“Sure,” Felix mutters.

“Okay,” Sylvain says, and almost groans because oh man, he really needs to stop saying that word. “Well, I’m gonna head over now. I hope I’ll see you there.”

And before Felix can say anything else that will make Sylvain utter another goddamn “okay,” Sylvain slips out the front door.

He’s not really sure why he so intensely hopes that Felix will come out tonight. Felix only goes clubbing with them less than half the time: often enough that it won’t be all that special if he comes out tonight, but not so often that Sylvain has any reason to believe Felix will change his mind and meet him there. But club or not, they spend most of their time together anyway, and will no doubt have many more opportunities to celebrate their graduation before the actual day.

All the same, Sylvain finds himself damn near overwhelmed with hope that Felix will come, that he’ll appear on the edge of the dance floor, black hair stained pink or blue or purple in the vibrant lights of the club as he looks out over the crowd, and when his eyes land on Sylvain he’ll stride forward with purpose, with urgency, with a hungry fire in his eyes as he reaches out for Sylvain’s face and pulls him down for a ki—

Sylvain shakes his head. Wow. No. Okay. Getting way too ahead of himself, there.

The yearning that buzzes in his nerve endings doesn’t go away though.

Sylvain isn’t really sure why he’s so keyed up about it tonight—maybe it’s because of graduation and all the uncertainty in the future that comes with it, maybe it’s just that four years of living with Felix and not kissing him has finally fried Sylvain’s brain—but he feels like he won’t even survive the night if Felix doesn’t come and he doesn’t at least get the chance to ask him to dance.

Dorothea, Petra, Hilda, and Claude are all loitering on the sidewalk when Sylvain pops out of the back of his Uber. Hilda sees him first, aiming a bright smile at him that dims as he draws nearer.

“Oh, honey,” Hilda says, slipping her arm around Sylvain’s. “Let’s get you a drink, okay?”

“I take it Felix won’t be joining us?” Dorothea says, a bit too pointedly.

“No?” Sylvain says, trying to sound very confused and like he doesn’t know exactly why they’re being so infuriatingly pitying. “Was anyone counting on him being here? It’s Felix. You all know this isn’t really his scene.”

“Nope, but it sure is ours,” Claude says, slinging his arm across Sylvain’s shoulders. “Especially tonight. Come on, grads. Let’s go tear it up.”

Petra whoops as she pushes on their backs, corralling them to the line moving steadily into Attitudes. “I am going to enjoy much dancing,” she says, “until my feet cannot be dancing anymore.”

“That’s the spirit,” Claude says.

The next hour passes in a blur. Hilda and Claude and occasionally Dorothea hand drinks to Sylvain, and he drinks them. He dances with Petra a lot, because she has unflagging stamina and hasn’t left the dance floor since she got on it and is always happy to have a friend join her. He dances with a lot of other people too, beautiful people, people who want him, people he could easily waste a night away with to keep from spending the night thinking about who he wished he was wasting it with. But every time, as soon as that thought occurs to him, he backs away and goes to down the next drink that gets placed in his hand.

The next time Sylvain makes a less-than-smooth exit from someone’s grip, he doesn’t see any of his friends at the table they’d been holding down since they arrived. He goes to the bar instead, accepting he’ll have to get his own drink this time.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says from just behind him.

Sylvain practically snaps his neck in surprise as he turns to confirm that it’s not just the alcohol talking.

It’s not. Felix is standing there, looking a little awkward—but _there_.

“Fe,” Sylvain breathes out, letting way more emotion slip out than he’d meant to.

Felix relaxes, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Gonna get me a drink or what?”

“Anything you want,” Sylvain says.

They grab their drinks and move away from the crowd clamboring around them to a bare bit of wall to lean against. Sylvain barely registers what they talk about, too high off having Felix’s arm warm against his. Too high off knowing Felix is here because he asked him to be.

“Do you want to dance?” Sylvain asks before he’s even registered he’s about to ask. But he’s wanted to ask all night.

And yet he’s still utterly unprepared when Felix responds, “Okay.”

Sylvain doesn’t think he’ll survive this. Their only point of contact right now is Sylvain’s hand around Felix’s wrist as he leads him to the dance floor, and it’s enough to have his heart vibrating wildly in his chest. It just about gives out when he turns and Felix smoothly slots himself in place in front of Sylvain, body immediately melting to move in liquid, sinuous motion to the music.

Sylvain’s known for a long time that Felix is a good dancer. But he so rarely gets to see it, and never like this.

He’s going to combust.

He doesn’t combust, but he does lose a lot of the steadfast self-control he’s been willfully clinging to for years. When his hand yearns to caress Felix’s hip, it does. When his fingers want so badly to smooth that loose lock of hair away from Felix’s face, they do.

But the thing is, Felix doesn’t protest any of these touches. He doesn’t move away or glower at Sylvain or snap at him to cut it out. He accepts every touch. And seems to—Sylvain dares to think—enjoy them.

So Sylvain touches him more. And Felix moves in closer and closer, and suddenly they’re pressed up against each other from chest to thigh, hips grinding to the music, and it’s far more touching than Sylvain’s ever dared with Felix and he thinks he might actually die from it. Just expire on the spot.

“Sylvain,” Felix says, and no, that tone of voice is why Sylvain is going to expire on the spot.

Or it’ll be because Felix’s mouth is on his.

Oh. _Oh_. Oh god. Felix is kissing him. He’s kissing Felix. Well, he is now, after the realization froze him for a moment in shock. Now he’s kissing Felix back, and Felix is wrapping a leg around Sylvain’s and _moaning_ and , fuck, this is the hottest moment of Sylvain’s life.

Felix’s hips are practically fused with Sylvain’s now, and they’re still grinding, and Sylvain doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed with such _hunger_ before and he’s all too eagerly willing to be swallowed down. Felix growls deep in his throat and Sylvain is so turned on he thinks there’s a good chance he might actually pass out from the lack of blood going to his brain.

God, Felix might actually literally kiss him senseless. Sylvain almost hopes he does. He’d absolutely thrive off being able to brag about it.

Sylvain’s awareness is abruptly pulled back to the surface of reality as limbs that don’t belong to him or Felix jostle him and remind him that they’re making out and dry humping in the middle of a crowd. _Fuck_.

But Sylvain’s feeling more irritation than embarrassment. A frustrated sound punches out of his chest and he takes Felix’s hand and drags him free from the crowd, off the dance floor, past the tables and sofas scattered near the back of the club, into the shadows from the second-floor balcony. He pulls Felix ahead of him, pushing him up against the wall, and waits just long enough to register the small smirk on Felix’s face before he leans in.

Felix feels like a livewire under his hands, frenetic and demanding with the way he moves against Sylvain and takes control of the kiss. He’s pushing up into Sylvain while pulling Sylvain into him, creating friction that Sylvain’s sure will spark. Sylvain ludicrously thinks it’d be an honor to go down in flames like this.

“Sylvain,” Felix says, his voice a deep rumble that makes Sylvain shudder.

And then he pulls back.

“Felix?” Sylvain says. _Do you want to stop? Is this too much? Please don’t say it’s too much_.

But Felix doesn’t pull away completely. His hands are still on Sylvain’s hips, and he still looks as turned on as Sylvain feels. “Want to do something probably against the rules, a little risky, and altogether terribly fun?”  
Sylvain stares. _He wants to fuck me_.

“Sneak onto the roof, of course,” Felix grins.

Well, that’s an entirely unexpected thing to hear from Felix. “You know how to get on the roof?” Sylvain asks blankly, which wasn’t even quite what he wanted to ask, but really this whole interaction with Felix is leaving him off-balance.

“Where else did you think I was disappearing all the other times you’ve dragged me here?” Felix says, and with that, he darts back towards the crowd to cross the room, not even glancing back to see if Sylvain follows.

Sylvain almost stumbles in his haste to hurry after Felix. Mostly because he very, very much doesn’t want to be far from Felix right now, but partly because Sylvain’s long heard rumors that there’s roof access at this club but never knew how to find it and he’s eager to finally know the secret. Honestly, he’s also long believed that Felix knew and that it was, in fact, where he disappeared to all the other times Sylvain dragged him here.

He’s always wished Felix would show him. How many times has he fantasized about it: stealing away from the crowd, dancing with Felix where they can still hear the heady thump of the bass but have the romance of the stars, making out in the moonlight in both private and public and reveling in the thrill of it.

He’d never been sure if the rumors were true and if the fantasy of getting Felix alone on the rooftop could ever actually happen, and tonight Felix showed up when Sylvain thought he wouldn’t and casually said, _Yes, Sylvain, your dreams can all come true_.

God. Right now, Sylvain needs nothing so desperately than to get Felix alone on the rooftop.

Felix is hovering at the edge of the crowd on the other side of the dance floor, smiling wolfishly as Sylvain practically pops out from the press of bodies. As soon as their eyes meet, Felix turns and leads the way towards the restrooms. Sylvain wonders briefly if Felix had lied, had really just been hiding in a bathroom stall all those times he disappeared at the club, and now was leading Sylvain there to—well. But before they can reach the short hallway that leads to the restrooms, Felix veers down a different one and straight through a door that says “STAFF ONLY.” Sylvain doesn’t hesitate to follow him through, though he figures it’ll just lead to them both being kicked out of the club since both of them are very clearly not wearing the staff uniforms of highlighter pink shirts.

Felix reaches back and grabs Sylvain’s wrist, pulling him down so they’re both hunched over as he drags Sylvain with him behind stacked crates of what is probably booze. 

“Probably not necessary to be stealthy,” Felix mutters to Sylvain. “No one’s ever back here. But,” he flashes his teeth, “it’s more fun this way.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes towards the ceiling as he lets Felix chart their slow and careful path between shelving units and more crates of probably booze. Of course Felix would find it fun to Mission Impossible around an empty club staffroom. The absolute madman.

They eventually come to a narrow spiral staircase, an aged iron thing that looks like it was here long before this building became a club. A handwritten sign is taped to the railing: SMOKE BREAKROOM ;)

Sylvain exchanges an amused look with Felix before following him up the stairs. 

The door is unlocked and unbolted, and Sylvain expects to find a bartender taking a smoke break. But the roof is empty. He shivers, less from the cold and more from the thrill of being here alone with Felix, with Felix seeming to want to be here alone with him too. Sylvain aches to know why Felix wants to be here alone with him.

Well, okay, he can venture a guess or two about that. But Sylvain wants to know what this is, if there’s anything more beyond the grinding hips and the feverish kissing.

He’s afraid to ask.

He can’t ask. Not yet. Not when he’s not sure if asking will end this before it’s even really begun.

Felix may not be ready or willing to talk about feelings yet, but he’s definitely into kissing Sylvain, so Sylvain decides to go with the safe bet.

Sylvain takes Felix by the hips, smirking down at him as he slowly walks them across the rooftop, guiding Felix back until he’s flush against a wall again. And then Sylvain kisses him.

If Felix was a livewire before, he’s an open flame now. He kisses Sylvain fiercely, hands seemingly everwhere as he pulls at Sylvain’s hair and clutches his ass and rakes his nails down Sylvain’s chest. He’s quick to leverage his position to get his legs wrapped around Sylvain’s waist, Sylvain’s hands clamped under his thighs even though Felix is too tightly pressed between himself and the wall to be in any danger of slipping down. And fuck are they tightly pressed together: Sylvain wouldn’t be surprised to wake up tomorrow and still see the outline of Felix’s cock imprinted on his stomach. 

Felix grinds down and Sylvain grinds up and, oh god, holy fuck, he’s going to wind up coming in his pants like a fucking teenager if they keep this up for, oh, about thirty more seconds.

“Fuck,” he moans into Felix’s neck. “ _Felix_.”

“Sylvain?”

It’s Felix’s voice, but that didn’t come from the Felix that’s currently wrapped around Sylvain.

Sylvain feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he pulls back from Felix to turn his head and see—Felix.

What. _What_.

His mind goes blank with panic at the expression on Felix’s face. The other Felix. The real Felix? Fuck. _Fuck_.

He’s pretty sure the real Felix is not the one currently wrapped around him. And that is. Bad. So bad. Bad is an understatement.

Sylvain’s known Felix since they were children, but he’s never seen that look on Felix’s face before.

Oh, yeah, this is _bad_.

Sylvain doesn’t know how long he’s frozen and staring stupidly at Probably Real Felix before finally someone moves.

Probably Fake Felix unwinds his legs from Sylvain’s waist and slides down the wall with a low chuckle. “Well, this was unexpected.”

It jolts Sylvain enough to shake off the temporary suspension and he takes a large step back. His wide eyes are on Probably Fake Felix, who he now knows is Certainly Fake Felix because he is pouting at Sylvain and the expression is just _disturbing_ on Felix’s face.

“You seemed so sure he wouldn’t come tonight,” Fake Felix says. “I thought I was making all your dreams come true.”

Fake Felix looks at Felix, mouth curving up in a sly, sensuous smile. “It’s not as though you can blame me for trying. Even without getting him naked—“ He pauses, licking his lips deliberately slow as a hand rakes lewdly down the length of his neck, over his chest, tapering off down his stomach just above the bulge in his pants. “He’s a feast of desires.”

The grin he aims at Felix is downright filthy. “Enjoy.”

Fake Felix steps close to Sylvain, bracing a hand on his chest as he leans up to press a kiss to Sylvain’s cheek. “Bye, Sylvain. It’s been fun.”

And with a wink, Fake Felix saunters away.

Felix and Sylvain stare after him, and then, with almost alarming synchronicity, they look back at each other. Sylvain is frozen again. That expression he can’t read is still on Felix’s face.

“Sylvain,” Felix finally says, and Sylvain’s stomach falls out of his foot. Felix’s tone is impenetrable ice.

Sylvain, inexplicably, bursts into laughter.

“Well,” he says through snorts and gasps, “this is awkward.”

Felix makes a noise that could be a hum of agreement or could be disdain for this whole situation. “Yeah. Couldn’t help noticing that he looked like me.”

“HA HA I KNOW RIGHT,” Sylvain blurts out, winces, and attempts to press the volume control button on his drunk mouth. “It’s so funny, right? It’s _so_ funny. Who knew, huh? Super drunk me is super attracted to Felix. Attracted to super Felix. Felix is attractive to me. Drunk me. Super drunk me. Ha ha ha oh man that is hilarious. Right, super Felix?”

Felix lets out a rather aggressive sigh, punctuated with, “Sylvain.”

Sylvain doesn’t want to know the point of that pointed tone. There’s a lot he doesn’t want to know, like what Felix thinks about what he just saw. “Let’s get more drinks,” is the solution he comes up with; perhaps temporary, but better than nothing.

Felix’s hand closes around Sylvain’s wrist when he tries to escape for the door back to the club. “Sylvain,” Felix says, “that’s not how it works.”

Well, Felix frequently lauds Sylvain’s ability to play stupid. “Not how what works?” Sylvain says blankly, aiming for another win.

“Sirens,” Felix says, ruining Sylvain’s game.

“I know,” Sylvain says, heated with the sudden and overwhelming force of his frustration. He shakes off Felix’s hand. “I know how it works, all right? But can you just give me a pass until I figure out how to fucking deal with the fact that the asshole I’m in love with just figured it out in pretty much the most awkward possible way? And I can’t do that until I’m sober and I’m not planning to be sober again for a long time, so just—just don’t, okay? I can’t. I just can’t.”

There’s a long pause, and then with narrowed eyes, Felix says, “Love.”

“Fucking sirens,” Sylvain complains loudly. “Who even thinks about checking for a glamour? It was your face. Stupid. Should’ve known. Should’ve been obvious right away, but that’s why they’re so successful right? Fucking _sirens_. Hone right in on the weak spot and get you to blithely walk into the trap. Just cheerfully go to your own death. Brilliant little fuckers.”

“Would you stop rambling and—“

“‘A feast of desires,’” Sylvain quotes, quietly and mockingly. And then, shouted at the sky, “Fuck you!”

“Sylvain—“

“And, you know, it’s pretty fucking embarrassing that I got tricked by a siren,” Sylvain says. Felix told him to stop rambling and maybe he should, but at this point, how much worse can he make this? He doesn’t really want to find out. It feels safer to keep rambling and keep Felix from getting a word in edgewise. “I mean, I’m so in love with you, right? Shouldn’t I be able to tell the difference? You’d think if you really love someone, you could tell the difference. Even on just a basic level, like—you’re my best friend, you’ve been my best friend since before I even had armpit hair, how did I not know that wasn’t my best friend? Fucking embarrassing. Like, shit, guess I don’t really know you at all, guess I don’t love you as much as I thought I did—“

“Sylvain,” Felix interrupts loudly, “you’re drunk.”

“That’s not an excuse!” Sylvain protests.

“I wasn’t—“ Felix sighs into the hand he’s practically slapped on his own face. “I just meant maybe we should have this conversation when you’re not drunk.”

“Sounds good,” Sylvain says, “since I plan to be drunk forever.”

“Syl _vain_ —“

“Felix,” Sylvain says, and almost winces at how absolutely wretched he sounds. “I really can’t deal with this right now.”

And before he can think better of it—before Felix can obliterate him with a word or a look—Sylvain casts a spell and immediately vanishes from the rooftop. He blinks back into focus in the living room of Hilda and Claude’s apartment.

“Oh god,” Sylvain miserably groans and hurriedly lurches into the kitchen to vomit into the sink.

The teleportation spell pretty much always fucks with his head; using it while drunk was—oh no. Sylvain heaves again. Oh, that was a mistake. He really should have gone with the less dramatic exit.

At least he’s more or less recovered by the time Hilda and Claude get home. He lets them bundle him between them on the couch, blankets strewn across their laps as they each put a head on one of his shoulders. They don’t make him talk about it. Sylvain doesn’t know if they even know about any of it. Did either of them even see him with the siren? Did they think he finally scored with Felix, or did they figure out the truth before Sylvain did? _Ugh_. Fuck this. They’re not making him talk about it, so he’s not going to think about it anymore right now. 

They watch a movie and eat an entire package of Oreos, and then Hilda tugs him up off the couch with her and prods him into her bed. While she snores softly in his ear, Sylvain lies awake, trying to convince himself he doesn’t care that Felix never tried to call or text. He just let him go.  
  


  


* * *

  


Sylvain wakes up to a smacking wet kiss on his forehead.

“Morning, sunshine,” Claude says, chipper in that obnoxious way that means he’s being like this on purpose. “How are you doing?”

Sylvain turns his face into the pillow and moans pathetically.

“I know, buddy,” Claude says, patting Sylvain on the shoulder. “I know.”

“You sound fine,” Sylvain says accusingly.

“Oh, I’m not,” Claude says cheerfully. “I’ve already thrown up twice this morning and I’m probably due for round three soon. Also I haven’t quite gotten the hearing back in my left ear and I think an invisible demon is driving a nail into my skull. But, hey, I had an amazing night, so if this is the price I must pay for that, so be it.”

Sylvain snorts. “So much for imp tolerance.”

“Hey,” Claude protests, flicking Sylvain’s ear. “I drank an elf under the table.” He grins fondly. “And then he got under the table.”

Sylvain snorts again.

“Anyway, what about witch tolerance? I thought you’d have spelled your hangover away by now. Speaking of which, that’s why I interrupted your beauty sleep. I was full of false bravado a minute ago when I said I’d pay this price. I really, really don’t want to pay this price anymore. Help a friend out? Please?”

Sylvain gestures for Claude to lean in closer and then presses two fingers to Claude’s forehead. Claude hums with relief almost immediately.

“You good now?” Sylvain asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Claude sighs happily. “Thanks, Sylvain. What about you?”

Sylvain waves a hand lazily. “Already took care of it last night once I got over the teleportation shock.”

“Oh,” Claude says. He tilts his head, seeming to scrutinize Sylvain before flopping down on the bed beside him. “Want to talk about it now?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Sylvain says just as quietly.

“Too bad,” Hilda says loudly from the doorway. “I made you pancakes. Now you have to talk.”

She comes and joins them on the bed, setting down a plate stacked high with blueberry pancakes. Claude immediately takes one and bites into it. Sylvain resists: if he doesn’t take a pancake, he’s not obligated to talk, right?

“Sylvain Jose Gautier,” Hilda says, crossing her arms. “I didn’t say a _thing_ last night and let you mope and take up space in my bed and then I made you breakfast. No more stalling.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sylvain says.

“Okay, no pancakes for you,” Hilda says and takes the plate out of reach, which draws a noise of protest from Claude.

“I don’t get to eat because I don’t have anything to talk about?” Sylvain says, deliberately sounding obtuse.

“No, you don’t get to eat because you made out with Felix in front of Odin and everyone and now you’re refusing to talk about it,” Hilda says.

Claude chokes on his last bite of pancake. “You what?”

“I didn’t,” Sylvain says.

Even though he’s telling the truth, Sylvain almost flinches at the lightning in Hilda’s eyes. He forgets sometimes because she’s usually so cute and honey sweet, but the valkyrie can be truly terrifying sometimes.

“You’re going to lie to me in my own bed after I made you pancakes?” Hilda says indignantly.

“It’s not a lie,” Sylvain sighs. Yeah, there’s really no getting out of talking about this. “That wasn’t Felix. That was,” he admits miserably, “a siren.”

Hilda and Claude are dead silent for a solid minute.

“Oh,” Hilda says faintly.

“Yeah,” Sylvain says.

“Okay, but, wait,” Hilda says, sounding confused. “Felix called me this morning and before I said you were here he sounded kind of—frantic? Like he was really worried that you didn’t go home last night and, I mean, you’re you, he’s used to you not sleeping in your own bed. Once he knew where you were he calmed down though and said I should send you home now that you’re sober.”

Sylvain can’t help the laugh that escapes him, warbly as it is. If his eyes are a little wet too, well. Like Hilda said: it’s not like Felix to worry about where he is. 

“I figured it was about the kiss and you two finally sorting your shit out,” Hilda continues.

“I can’t believe you saw Sylvain and Felix kissing and didn’t tell me,” Claude says.

“Not the time, Claude,” Hilda says.

“Unbelievable,” Claude mutters.

“ _Any_ way,” Hilda says exasperatedly. “Is something else going on with you two?” she asks Sylvain.

“Not really,” Sylvain says dully. “He saw me kissing the siren too.”

“Oh,” Hilda says, eyes wide.

“Oh, shit,” Claude says.

“Yeah,” Sylvain sighs.

“You’re in a bit of a mess, buddy,” Claude says.

Sylvain laughs humorlessly. “Tell me about it.”

“Maybe not,” Hilda says, pushing the plate of pancakes back towards Sylvain. “How’d he react?”

Sylvain takes a pancake since he’s damn well earned it now. “I barely noticed, honestly. I didn’t really want to know. He kind of had a nonreaction, and then I babbled for a while before he could start actually having one.”

“And then you pulled a Houdini on him,” Hilda says reprovingly.

“I was drunk and I panicked,” Sylvain says, knowing it’s not much of a defense or excuse but it’s enough of one. “I mean, it’s Felix. He’s never—I think it’s clear he doesn’t—like, there’s just no good way for him to react to seeing that, is there? And now he knows. He _knows_.” Sylvain takes a small bite of his pancake. “I’m going to lose him, aren’t I,” he says quietly.

Hilda sighs and reaches for a pancake. “You never listen to me,” she says, “but I’ll say it again anyway. You need to talk to him about this. I don’t think he’s nearly as averse to the idea as you think he is.”

“Agreed,” Claude says before folding a pancake and shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

“I think I’d know if my best friend who I’ve been living with for the past four years was into me,” Sylvain says.

“Disagree,” Claude says, or tries to as the word comes out muffled and warped around his mouthful of pancake.

“Sylvain, if Felix isn’t into you, I’ll eat Claude’s hair,” Hilda says, eliciting a, “Hey!” from Claude.

“And if you let this opportunity to find out slip away,” she continues, “I’ll eat _you_.”

“Kinky,” Sylvain says like a reflex.

Hilda rolls her eyes, takes a pancake off the plate, and holds it out to Sylvain while removing the plate from his reach again. “Here’s one more for the road. Now get out and go talk to Felix.”

Sylvain doesn’t take the proffered food and curls into a ball on his side instead. “No.”

“Sylvain, you are being way too dramatic about—“

“You didn’t see his face,” Sylvain cuts her off. Hilda falls silent, frowning.

Claude throws an arm around Sylvain. “Felix has a weird face. I’m sure it was nothing.”

“No, it was definitely something,” Sylvain says miserably. “I’ve never seen him look like that before. I have no idea what he was thinking. He might actually hate me now.”

“He definitely doesn’t hate you,” Hilda insists. “He sounded really worried about you on the phone earlier. He wouldn’t have even called if he hated you.”

“Maybe,” Sylvain mutters.

Claude rubs Sylvain’s arm and tucks his chin over Sylvain’s head. “I don’t think it’s in him to ever hate you, Sylvain. It was probably just a shock. I mean, wouldn’t you be shocked seeing someone wearing your face? Maybe that’s why he looked so weird.”

“You won’t know until you _talk to him_ ,” Hilda says.

Sylvain almost cringes away from the mere thought. “How can I face him?” he asks quietly. “I mean, either he doesn’t feel the same and our friendship can never be the same, because—because how can it be, after what he saw? It might not even survive him seeing something like that. Or knowing what he knows now.” Sylvain swallows thickly. “Or you’re right, and he does feel the same, and—I’ve already ruined everything.”

“Oh, Sylvain, you didn’t ruin—“

“I had no idea it wasn’t him,” Sylvain says vehemently, suddenly so profoundly, viciously angry with himself. “It played me completely. I was totally fooled. How come I didn’t—how could I not know it wasn’t him?”

“Because that’s what sirens _do_ , Sylvain,” Hilda says. “They get in your head to figure out exactly what you expect, exactly what you want to see. It had a lifetime of your memories of Felix to pick through. It managed to be him so well because you know Felix so well.”

Sylvain snorts. “Guess not, if the siren thought Felix would throw himself at me like that.”

Hilda slaps a hand over her face. “Oh my god, you are so dense.”

“Come on, Sylvain,” Claude says, poking Sylvain in the side. “Put the pieces together.”

“You’re both so fucking obnoxious, you know that?” Sylvain complains loudly.

“But we’re _right_ ,” Claude says smugly.

“Sylvain,” Hilda says, “that siren basically just gave you a practice run of what it’d be like to finally make a move on Felix. If you never suspected anything was off, it’s because nothing was off.”

“Yes it fucking was!” Sylvain explodes, finally sitting up in bed—which he immediately regrets because being cuddled by Claude is always nice. But they don’t _get it_. “It wasn’t Felix! I was kissing Felix, but—it wasn’t him.” He droops abruptly, bitter and heartsick and feeling pretty pathetic about just how upset he is over this. “That was my first kiss with Felix. But it _wasn’t_.”

Hilda softens immediately. She places the plate of pancakes back in front of Sylvain. “Oh, honey.”

“So go get your real first kiss with Felix,” Claude says simply, sitting up with a grin.

“Ugh,” Sylvain groans, pulling a face. “I mean—I want that, of course I do. But it feels so. Tainted now? I feel dirty. And traumatized. What if he actually does try to kiss me and I just, like, scream or punch him thinking he’s the siren again?”

“Okay, you’re officially crossing over the limits of my sympathy,” Hilda says, crossing her arms. “You’re being an idiot. Stop trying to overthink yourself out of this and just deal with it already. Get out of my apartment and go _talk to him_.”

Sylvain sighs in resignation. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Claude says, getting up from the bed. He looks back down at Sylvain with raised eyebrows. “Unless you’d like to teleport again and open up the conversation with Felix by throwing up on him.”

“Go get your keys, imp,” Sylvain says.

Claude laughs as he leaves the room.

Before Sylvain can fully stand from the bed, Hilda wraps her arms around him and kisses him on the cheek. “It’ll be okay,” she says.

Sylvain puts a hand over hers. “I hope so.”

“When you get married, I call dibs on getting to tell this story in my Best Man speech,” Hilda says.

Considering Sylvain still has doubts that he and Felix will even be speaking anymore after today, it’s entirely too soon to even think about such a thing, but Sylvain appreciates the optimism.  
  


  


* * *

  


Sylvain has just quietly closed the door and paused to consider his next move when Felix storms out of his room.

Sylvain braces himself, willing his arms to not come up and fling the door open again so he can flee. He takes a deep breath and exhales, “Felix.”

He only manages, “Fe,” before the breath gets caught between his mouth and Felix’s.

Felix crashes him up against the door as he presses his mouth to Sylvain’s with crushing force, swallowing up half his name and all of Sylvain’s carefully cultivated control. An indescribable sound gets knocked out of Sylvain’s throat as Felix’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, and Sylvain’s hands clutch at Felix’s hips as they press in on Sylvain’s.

And Sylvain knows, but a small, somewhat traumatized voice suggests that maybe he should double-check.

It’s one of the more difficult things Sylvain’s ever forced himself to do, but he pulls back from Felix with a breathless, “Wait.”

“What—“ Felix starts to say, then falls silent as Sylvain whispers the incantation for revealing glamours.

Sylvain gives it a solid second before he grunts out, “Good,” fists his hand in Felix’s shirt, and drags Felix back in.

Sylvain had thought making out with a siren while drunk in the middle of a dance club was filthy, but it’s nothing compared to this. Felix’s mouth is sweet and sharp on his, insatiable, and Sylvain gets blissfully lost in this kiss. Somehow it’s tender, so fucking tender, while simultaneously broiling Sylvain alive from the heat of Felix’s tongue, the way his touch leaves Sylvain’s skin scorched in its wake. Felix hisses out a gasp when Sylvain’s hand slides over his ass, nails digging into Sylvain’s shoulder, head falling back. Sylvain kisses along the slender column of Felix’s neck, moving with purpose to keep Felix’s throat vibrating with those sounds. He presses his lips below Felix’s ear, feels the fluttering pulse and sucks on it. 

“You want this,” Felix says.

Sylvain pulls back to look him in the eye. “Yes.”

There’s something almost wonderstruck in Felix’s eyes. “You want me.”

“Yes.”

“This can’t be real.”

“You know it is,” Sylvain says, voice rough with both arousal and amusement. “You saw what happened last night. You know what that means.”

Felix’s throat moves as he swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah. I guess I do.”

Yet, curiously, Felix doesn’t sound like he does. He’s hesitant. Unsure.

Sylvain can’t have that.

“Felix,” he says, fingers coming up to grip Felix’s chin to make sure he won’t look away. “I love you.”

Sylvain thought the words would be a reassurance, just finally saying out loud what’s now known to both of them. So it alarms him a little to see how utterly gobsmacked Felix looks.

“What?” Sylvain says fearfully. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Felix says automatically—and after a deep breath, his face relaxes. “Nothing,” he repeats.

“Felix, please talk to me,” Sylvain begs.

“It’s really nothing,” Felix insists, hands running soothingly down Sylvain’s sides. “I was just overthinking. Or underthinking, I guess. Thinking in circles all night, really.”

“About what, exactly?”

Felix shrugs. “What this is. Well, what that was. Last night. With the siren.”

“A mistake,” Sylvain says quickly. “I swear, Felix, if I’d had any idea—you don’t know how terrible I feel about it, I’m so sor—“

“That’s not what I meant,” Felix says. “I know what sirens are like.” He drops his head, breathing out a deep sigh. “I know what sirens are like,” he repeats quietly. “I was just having a hard time believing it. What happened and what it meant. What it meant about you, and how you feel. I spent half the night convincing myself I must be wrong about sirens. That the first thought I had about what I’d seen was exactly what it really was.”

“What did you think it was?” Sylvain asks incredulously.

“I don’t know!” Felix says hotly. “I—wasn’t really thinking at all, I guess. I just. I saw what I saw and came to certain conclusions.”

“Which were?”

Felix huffs. “That you just wanted to fuck me and were taking the first available chance to do it. That maybe you preferred to fuck someone with my face who wasn’t . . . me.”

Sylvain blinks, suddenly remembering the way Felix had repeated “ _love_ ” after Sylvain’s rooftop confession. “You thought it was just a lust thing.”

Felix drops his hands from Sylvain and seems to try to hunch in on himself. “Yes.”

“Felix,” Sylvain says laughingly. “That’s not how it works.”

“I know,” Felix says defensively, taking a step back and crossing his arms. “I know what I smelled up there. Sirens always stink like the sea. I knew what it was but—I don’t know, I figured I must’ve gotten it wrong, or something.”

“Like it was really some scuba-diving obsessed incubus or something?” Sylvain says, still barely containing his laughter.

“Shut up,” Felix says, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“Felix,” Sylvain says warmly, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Felix again, “if I weren’t so stupid in love with you, the siren never would’ve looked twice at me.”

Felix seems to melt into Sylvain’s embrace, his hands flattening against Sylvain’s chest as he tucks his head under Sylvain’s neck. Sylvain feels him sigh with contentment, and no, _now_ he’s stupid in love with Felix, utterly incapable of a thought or feeling that isn’t embarrassingly saccharine about this man.

“Just to be clear,” Felix says quietly, “I love you too.”

Honestly, Sylvain had not at all expected Felix to say it. At least not right now. Not so bluntly.

Sylvain laughs, a loud, mirthful belly laugh.

“Felix,” he chortles, tightening his arms around Felix as Felix begins trying to squirm away. “I was barely through the door and you _kissed_ me. Without a _word_. Just threw me up against the door and _ravaged_ me.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Felix hisses, burying his face in Sylvain’s chest.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, champ,” Sylvain snickers.

“I take it back,” Felix mutters.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvain says cheerfully. “My point was, you really didn’t need to say anything.”

Felix makes a noise, probably trying to convey his discomfort or annoyance or his plan to let the wolf eat Sylvain during the next full moon. Sylvain just chuckles again and squeezes him tighter.

“I just,” Felix says, voice muffled by Sylvain’s shirt. “I’d been up all night thinking and. I didn’t want to think anymore.”

“I understand completely,” Sylvain sighs. “Look, I know we’ve probably got a lot to talk about, but can we just—not? Not today?”

“No talking today,” Felix says in agreement, and then he surges up on his toes and kisses Sylvain again.

Sylvain laughs into the kiss.

When his back hits the wall again, the laughter is gone because yeah, no, the hardness of Felix’s body against his is no laughing matter. They’re plastered together from mouth to toe, and Sylvain’s on fire, absolutely combusting over the knowledge of what’s in this kiss, of knowing this is so much more than just a kiss. Felix’s mouth may be all heat and hunger, but it’s also _I want this_ and _I want you_ and _I love you_ , and Sylvain can feel every word through Felix’s touch, he swears he can.

Felix’s hips start rocking against Sylvain’s, and Sylvain moans desperately as he grinds back against Felix. Is this too fast? Is this too much? Probably, but Sylvain’s been slowly dying of blue balls since last night and he can’t help wanting this to happen, just finally _happen _. As long as Felix is leading on this, Sylvain will follow wherever he wants to go.__

__“Take off your pants,” Felix says._ _

__Okay, maybe Sylvain won’t just follow along so blithely. Too many things could follow that order and—well. Maybe Sylvain’s senselessly being a sappy moron about it, but he’d like to at least _slightly_ savor the honeymoon period._ _

__“You sure?” is all Sylvain can manage to say though._ _

__“Yes,” Felix promptly responds._ _

__“I mean,” Sylvain tries again, “we don’t have to—“_ _

__“Sylvain,” Felix says, and Sylvain can already hear the determination that will not be swayed. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”_ _

__“Me neither,” Sylvain admits. “Just—whatever you want, Felix. Only what you want.”_ _

__Felix lets out a low laugh and starts unbuttoning Sylvain’s pants. “I was up _all_ night thinking, Sylvain. I didn’t one-track mind it all that time over how you feel about me.”_ _

__“Oh?” Sylvain’s voice comes out husky. He doesn’t really need to ask the question: considering the circumstances, he can guess what the answer is. But he asks it anyway. “What else did you think about?”_ _

__“Something I’ve thought about a lot,” Felix says. “Only I didn’t used to have such a. Vivid image.” He kisses Sylvain, open mouthed, a little sloppy, all want and passion. “Makes it pretty hard to think about anything else.”_ _

__Oh no. No no no no. That won’t do at all. Sylvain can’t have Felix being fixated on a kiss Sylvain shared with someone else._ _

__Sylvain draws Felix back in, fire meeting fire, kisses him fierce and thorough as he unzips Felix’s jeans. Sylvain’s jealous and greedy, and it’s irrational, he knows, but he’s going to make sure that image of Sylvain and the siren gets obliterated from Felix’s mind._ _

__Sylvain feels his own jeans get tugged down to his thighs, and has just worked Felix’s open when Felix slips from his hands. Sylvain opens his eyes to see Felix sinking to his knees._ _

__“Felix,” Sylvain breathes._ _

__Felix catches the waistband of Sylvain’s underwear between his teeth and looks up at Sylvain as he drags them down. His eyes are so dark and his lips are so red, it’s not even fucking fair. Sylvain can’t do anything but stare and want._ _

__Felix kisses his thighs, bites and sucks, soothes the purpling skin with his tongue. Sylvain exhales raggedly, one hand pushing through his hair, the other gripping the wall trim that’s been digging unheeded into his lower back this whole time. He won’t put his hands on Felix, won’t automatically guide him to where he wants Felix’s mouth the most. Felix can do whatever he fucking wants to him. If Sylvain doesn’t outlive Felix taking his sweet time—well, good for Felix, honestly._ _

__But Felix has mercy on him then, takes him into his mouth suddenly, just the tip but it gets Sylvain’s heart going like a jackhammer. Felix’s mouth is soft around him, wet and warm, and Felix leisurely moves on him. Sylvain closes his eyes and his fists and tries to calm down before this ends shamefully soon. He times his breaths to Felix’s slow, shallow movements, trying to just luxuriate in the sensation. Felix is so careful, so thorough, and it occurs to Sylvain that he’s never done this before, and his heart throbs._ _

__Just as Sylvain’s acclimating to Felix’s rhythm, Felix apparently becomes acclimated to having a dick in his mouth and he starts moving faster, taking Sylvain in deeper. His tongue searches out all the sensitive spots and ruthlessly applies pressure, focused on what makes Sylvain gasp and shake and moan. He seems intent on rooting out every reaction he can, chasing down all Sylvain’s weaknesses and honing in on them until he takes Sylvain apart._ _

__Sylvain’s resisted looking down because he wasn’t at all confident that one glance wouldn’t end him, but now he can’t help it. He sees Felix’s eyelashes flutter, those red lips shiny and slick as they slide up his cock. And he sees Felix’s hand between his legs, furiously stroking himself._ _

__“Fuck, Felix,” Sylvain whines, hands moving into Felix’s hair. “Wait, come here—“_ _

__And Felix rises easily with Sylvain’s coaxing, kisses Sylvain hard and wild before rasping out, “Sylvain, please.”_ _

__Sylvain kisses down Felix’s neck, murmurs, “I’ve got you,” and wraps a hand around them both, and fuck, they’re both so wet and the glide is so smooth as he jacks them together. Felix’s forehead falls to Sylvain’s shoulder as Sylvain’s strokes get faster and rougher, and Sylvain’s mouth drops open as words tumble mindlessly out: _Felix, fuck, you’re perfect, wanted you, wanted this, fucking love you, you menace, you fucking beautiful bastard, god_ —_ _

__Felix’s teeth sink briefly into his neck, and then his low-lidded eyes meet Sylvain’s. “Sylvain.”_ _

__And that’s it for Sylvain. He’s coming over his fist, shuddering and moaning, and thank fucking god Felix follows a moment later because Sylvain’s losing feeling in his limbs._ _

__Their gasping mouths seek each other out, not quite kissing, just tasting, lingering, trying to draw this out as long as they can. Sylvain wraps his arms around Felix, partially because he’s afraid one of them might fall to the floor without the other, but mostly because he feels like he might fly apart from being so overwhelmed that he needs Felix to help ground him. They just hold each other for a while, relaxing into each other until they’re breathing in sync._ _

__“Could you do something useful and magic away the mess or something.” The words are biting, but Felix’s tone is sleepy as he murmurs the words into Sylvain’s neck. “It’s getting sticky.”_ _

__Sylvain laughs lowly. “Wish, command.”_ _

__A moment later, the stickiness is gone, as well as their clothes._ _

__“Well, magic is an inexact science,” Sylvain says when Felix fixes him with a dour look._ _

__Sylvain wraps an arm around Felix’s waist and starts guiding him further into the apartment. “Come on, babe,” he says fondly. “Looks like someone needs to go to bed.”_ _

__Felix yawns and doesn’t protest as they shuffle slowly along to Sylvain’s room. He drops into Sylvain’s bed and immediately burrows under the blankets, swaddling himself almost from sight._ _

__“Hey,” Sylvain protests, tugging on the blankets to try to dislodge them from under Felix so he can slip into bed too._ _

__“Stop bothering me,” Felix mutters. “I’m tired.”_ _

__“I gathered,” Sylvain deadpans, finally prying an edge loose and lifting it. He slides in beside Felix saying, “That’s what happens when you stay up all night plotting how to rock a guy’s world.”_ _

__Felix snorts, but rolls towards Sylvain, tucking his body into Sylvain’s. He peers up at Sylvain through his eyelashes and says, “Did I?”_ _

__“Felix,” Sylvain says, “if I tried to get out of this bed right now, my legs would crumple. I’d go down like a lead balloon tied to an anchor. Yeah, you rocked my world.”_ _

__Felix closes his eyes, looking pleased. “See?” he says. “You don’t need the rabbit’s foot to get lucky.”_ _

__Sylvain folds his arms around Felix and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until Felix shoves a pillow over his face._ _

**Author's Note:**

> why did i put in a throwaway line about sylvain having sisters and more brothers than he actually had in canon? because I CAN. sylvain deserves a giant clusterfuck of siblings who love him okay just take it
> 
>   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/constantblur_)


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